Fine-Tuning a Writing

It was very early in the morning, earlier than usual for the retired Martin. A whole life being stuck in a rut , and he would now choose to relax in bed well until the sun mature. But that day there was a strange feeling in the air, and an inward impulse made him dress up, take a book and star reading by the bedroom window. In the shiny day, he could hear the sweet singing of the sparrows flying around the old oak, in which he still glimpsed the face of his great grandfather, who planted the tree according to the family record. Suddenly, there was a silence, such a deep silence that Martin was affected. Startled, he stood up and peered into the window. The figure of a little boy appeared under the centennial tree, not older than ten, dressed in tattered clothing, reading a book. It seemed a scene drawn from other time, so odd that he rubbed his eyes in surprise. He set eyes on the boy, who was deeply concentrated in his book, as if he had been belonged to the place forever. Impelled by an irresistible attraction, we crept downstairs, crossed the glass door, and padded softly across the garden to the oak. Crouching, he asked: It seems a good book, doesn’t it? For the first time, the boy looked away from the pages and, smiling in a shy but charming way, said: “It is the book of my life”.

“You mean that it is your favourite book”, asked Martin in a condescending manner. “Well”, replied the boy, “it might have been better. In fact, I need to look at it again to improve some things”. Martin was unable to understand him. “Hey naughty boy, has you at all written the book?”. “Not exactly, at least not with ink”, stated the boy. Martin felt confused, with a mixture of annoyance and anxiety. Then, he set eyes on the book. It was quite robust, with a fine binding, but old yellowish pages. The lettering was quite strange, and although he stared at it, he couldn’t make out anything. “What weird language is it?”, asked Martin, full of curiosity. “It is the language of the dreams”, the child pronounced firmly. “What a nonsense!”, sniggered Martin, and started shouting angrily at the boy. Drop dead! Get out from here, immediately!

Then the boy stood up, gazed at Martin, and said: “This is a book not to be read, but to be lived. Only those with a heart full of love, and empty of regrets, are able to read it. Dare you?”. Martin didn’t feel like going on with that game. He wandered through the garden, and  beheld lilies, roses, jasmines, chrysanthemums, daffodils. All the flowers had strangely bloomed, and filled the atmosphere with soft nuances and coloured fragrances. And there, with a tender stroke the boy touched his back, and said: “You should have listened to Grandpa Charles when he said that you deserved the best. Things would have been very different”. Martin was petrified of listening his grandfathers’ name. At that moment, he recognized that the boy he was talking to resembled himself when he was ten years old. “Nevertheless, you might fix it up”, said the little boy offering Martin the book,  Would you like to look back?”…

My Shakespearian Sonnet

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) is one of the greatest figure of universal literature of all times, and is considered the world’s pre-eminent dramatist. He embodies the golden age of English letters, and the dawn of a cultural renaissance during the Queen Elisabeth rule. A great deal of his works are masterpieces, a legacy of lasting impression and influence from its time until now. Tragicomedies as Hamlet, King Lear, Othello, Macbeth, and his poems, are considered some of the finest works in the English language.

A vast amount of resources are available about this genius on Internet. If you feel like digging into this brilliant figure, here you have two interesting links:

     Link: Shakespeare Online

     Link: The Complete Works of Willian Shakespeare

And why not trying to emulate the genius? I dared to make an attempt of a Shakespearian  sonnet:

'Hopeless Love'

Since ethereal mist you shadow my senses.

You are the air I breath, breeze stroking my skin,

Darkness in the daylight, in the warm summer, coldness;

No escape; triumphant knots chained us within.

Oh love, my true love! How shall I take the heat?

My sweet perdition, painful as the untouchable beauty of a rose,

Beneath every joyous moment, makes spurt the grief.

Just as you gave me everything, so love stole my soul.

Oh hopeless love! I am dreaming awake, I am living a dream;

How so much love can bring back such a thing?

Long time ago you set off to an unknown station.

I did beg your forgiveness, with yelps of despair,

But crawling on lead-shod, I could not change my destination.

Aimless, alone. If you are not here, I don't want this world any more.

My Dickensian Paragraph

A Tale of Two Cities

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity,it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness,it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair,we had everything before us, we had nothing before us,we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way-in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

My paragraph:

And in these two cities, people of all condition faced their lives as they best could, with their joys and sorrows, with their loves and their aversions, with their hopes and their failures. As it was, is and ever will be. Some gentlemen were full of material things, but with a grieving soul; and the destitute, the vast majority, enduring the lack of goods with an excess of joie de vivre. In that state of things, little could  the authorities do to vary the course of events; only big noise and obscene parades. And one city tried to be the mirror of the other, establishing an insane competition leading only to counter their penuries. But behind that merrymaking, waters kept running, infants cried, beggars pleaded, lovers loved, moribund died, rats gnawed, ogres loathed, and an invisible but real web was drawn between citizens of both sides...

The original paragraph:

There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face,on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.

It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. South cott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past(supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.

Charles Dickens' 200th Anniversary: an Everlasting Legacy.

Two hundred years ago, precisely on the seventh of february 1812, was born in Portsmouth Charles Dickens, one of the most important novelist of all times. An infinite writer, responsible for some indelible pages and characters. He was an exceptional witness of a tumultuous period, which was characterized by social inequility, poverty, misery, sickness, child labour, and injustice. In this context, Dickens shaped his words as a mirror of this reality. “There is nothing so strong or safe in an emergency of life as the simple truth”, the said.

Staunch defender of the poor, Dickens embodies a breed of writers concerned by social reform. Prolific and brilliant creator, he published many of his writings serially, in monthly instalments, which along with the uniqueness of his characters, and the everlasting reality of the arguments, contributed to his popularity, which still remains. Hence, some of his novels and characters are part of mankind cultural legacy.

From the very beggining, the movies have been no stranger to this legacy, and there have been many film adaptations of Dicken's works. Some of them are masterpieces, which are always worth watching again. The great English film director David Lean, directed two superb and unforgettable adaptations, authentic visual poems: Oliver Twist (1948) and Great Expectations (1946). Here you can watch the last one, at this right time to commemorate Charles Dickens' 200th Anniversary.

Helping Link : 'Great Expectations' with Spanish subtitles.

Walking Inverted

Down the street came a weird collection of people. Some of them were striding, and other sauntering. I thought, as did most people, that it was a dream, but it wasn’t. Such was the fuss that the procession caught the attention of all passers-by. There were, in the group, people of all ages: the older hobbled, the younger marched, and even there were those who from time to time crawled, hopped and did a somersault. Never had I seen this before!

Seldom had I had the opportunity of seeing such a thing, so that I rushed to the street. No sooner had I reached the crowd than they started to swagger, swinging their shoulders, and trotting to and fro. Under no circumstances was I to miss that amazing show. Only after elbowing thought people could I see a man shuffling and sliding on the place. Some masked figures bowed and waved their hands at times; others seemed to be drunk, and stumbled, rolled, and fell headlong.

Little did I expect what happened next. Somebody crept behind me, and suddenly sprang up making strange gestures. He nodded, took off his hat, and from nowhere appeared a white rabbit. I started in surprise. Never had I enjoyed myself more! And the smiling man bade his good-bye, giving me a bouquet of flowers that he took out from his sleeve. Should I have been allowed, I would probably have spent all the evening there. But a slap on my wrist brought me back to reality. It was my mother and I was five. I'll never forget the first time a circus came to my village.

Sports: All That Glitters Is Not Gold.

In reference to the latest news about another massacre in a football match, I have felt like looking into the role of sports in our current society. Last Wednesday, there were over 74 deaths after a football match in Port Said, in Egypt. There have been more than 1.500 violent deaths related with football until now (Report: 'Timeline: Soccer Stadium Disasters'). All of this makes one wonder about what is wrong with sport.

Being more precise, we should refer to professional sport. In many ways, sports are shown as something desirable, noble, and pretty appropriated to shape youngsters. And to some extent, that is true. But rarely do communications media present a balanced view of the issue. After all, they are not to cut the branch on which they sit, as professional sports have became a flourishing and very lucrative industry. What is more, they are thought to be one pillar of the neo-liberal mass media, trying to alienate people with this easy and passionate entertainment. Sport is like a religion in its ability to move the masses. As a result, football occupies more time in the news than economy or politics. It is the usual talking point, and the reason why people mobilise, more than anything else. All things together, football –and other major sport events- are a powerful weapon to control society, and they perfectly know it.

Carrying this issue one step further, it is worth mentioning that some social and behavioural researches have challenged the idea that sport is a positive influence on athletes, spectators, and the world as a whole. Immediately some images come to mind to support this idea: hooligans; battle fields between football supporters; fascist and racist cells embed within stadiums; etc. One of the most striking things is how presumably educated citizens turn into brutal hooligans, and even so does their children. How dreadful!

According to the mentioned researches, sports brings out the worst in people, both fans and athletes. Consequently, the growing appearance of doping and other expressions of corruption in sports are threatening its credibility. Besides, it does not improve character or help to develop virtues such as fair play and respect for opponents. And what is more, sport doesn’t make you happy. Spectators as well as athletes have higher than normal levels of stress, anxiety, and hopelessness because of their engagement with professional sport. In conclusion, if we consider all of this, it seems that sport is losing its shine and allure.

Find Your Motivation

Finding your motivation is a key point to achieve a satisfactory life. But it’s a tricky matter, as there can be an ample range of possibilities. Although one thing is for sure, that everyone need a motivation, or you would be aimless. Generally speaking, I believe that motivation is concerned with doing rewarding things, something that goes with your core principles and targets, so that they bring you satisfaction and self-assurance. In most cases, this is easier to be said than done, as we have to face with difficulties and situations difficult to overcome.

The shortage of time and money, our family, or our job, are some examples of things that we haven’t usually chosen. They can be a blessing or a curse, but I firmly believe that we can always hurdle our barriers. Most people find motivation in their family, especially in their children. Without any doubt, this can be the reason for a life, but not always is possible, and is it enough? I believe not. Above all, it is a question of  be yourself. I mean, live your own live, rather than doing what others expect of you, always in your job, in your life, whatever it is, as much as you can. I know, it’s easier to be said than done, but that is the way.

First of all, you must know who you are, what you want in life, what your core principles are; and them be absolutely self-confident and proud of yourself. After that, it is just a question of choosing the proper alternative. I have it clear that I love travelling, meeting people from all over the world and enriching myself with their life experiences. I also want to improve my job career options. And I like learning foreign languages. Consequently, I chose to enrol in this C1 English course, despite being quite demanding and difficult to me to catch up with it. Notwithstanding this, I am enjoying it a lot and, regardless the final upshot, that is my motivation.

Motivation: Autonomy, Mastery, Purspose